Will of Fate
by Legolas0
Summary: When Harry vanishes off the face of the Earth, Europe crumbles into anarchy. Now, with Voldemort in charge, can Hermione and Ron trust a red dragon and his Rider to help them save their world? H/R, H/G
1. Oracle

I started writing this forever ago, and finally got around to publishing the first chapter. This is a Inheritance/Harry Potter crossover. Some aspects of this story have been done before, but I've added my own little twists. This story takes place mostly in the HP world. There are other crossovers mentioned, but never seen.

Spoilers: Inheritance: Post-Brisingr HP: Up to the end of GoF

**Oracle**

Harry gazed at the clock on the nightstand beside him, watching as the second hand crept around the circle at an agonizingly slow pace. As each minute passed, it seemed to pass slower than the one before. At last the minute and the hour hand joined in happy unison. Midnight. Harry was sixteen. Two more years, and no one could force him to come back to this house again. He would be free from the Durselys forever.

The second hand completed one more rotation and the minute hand marked off the slow passage of time dutifully. As it did so, I blinding flash of light enveloped his room, radiating from every nook and cranny. When it subsided, Harry found himself laying on nothing but an endless white expanse.

There was no forward or backward as far as Harry could tell, and he didn't seem to be lying upon anything. He sifted his weight slightly in preparation to get up, but stopped when his stomach did a flip-flop.

"It would be ill-advised for a mortal such as you to stand, Harry Potter. This world is not suited for your kind." The voice that spoke seemed to come from all around Harry. It was a warm male voice that immediately put Harry's pounding heart to rest.

"Where are you?" He said, trying his best to stand once more, despite the warning.

"I am all places," answered the man. "I am here, in your own World, and in many others."

"I don't understand," answered Harry.

"Of course you don't. You are only a mortal, how can you be expected to understand what one such as I say?" As the voice spoke, the space in front of Harry shimmered; a man appeared before him, standing nearly seven feet tall, though Harry could see him entirely without having to strain his eyes. The man wore a thick blue robe, like a wizard out of a muggle movie, though his face was clean-shaven and his cobalt blue hair was neatly groomed, quite unlike a stereotypical wizard.

"Who are you?" Harry said. His third attempt to stand met with more success than he had previously enjoyed. He sat up, forcing his stomach to calm down as it flipped yet again.

The man laughed. "I am many names, Harry Potter, though for now, until your understanding of the Worlds is more complete, you may call me Oracle."

"Oracle?"

"Listen closely to me Harry, for I'll only explain this once. I am not a god, I cannot control time, and right now, time is of the essence. You, Harry Potter, are very important."

"Yeah," Harry rubbed his forehead tiredly, "Like I haven't been hearing that one for the past three years."

"If you were only important to one world, I would not be overly concerned with your fate, but that is not the case." Oracle sighed, an oddly mortal gesture for one who seemed so ethereal. "My Order has been caught up studying and worrying over two great wars in two very different Worlds. The first is of course, your World. The second is Alagaësia. Alagaësia is embroiled in a desperate war that will decide the fate of their entire World. This war will be decided by three very powerful beings, but unless my order interferes, the side of good will be lost. We have searched the Worlds for one who could help us, and you are the only one there is. Unfortunately, if we just pluck you out of your world and deposit you in Alagaësia, Voldemort will conquer Europe, if not the whole Earth, within a few years. I hate to pick favorites, but the situation in Alagaësia is more pressing."

"I won't do it," Harry said suddenly. "You can't make me."

"Oh, I won't have to," Oracle answered. "For I must send you into Alagaësia into the exact place you need to be. Once events are set in motion, you will be caught up in them, as is everyone else involved. You will have to fight for your life, not to mention your sanity."

"There must be someone else." Harry protested.

"We have searched an uncountable number of Worlds and examined legions of beings for the correct person. We could find no one else who is living." Oracle sighed again, and Harry realized that he was frustrated, not with him, but with something else. "You are the only one, Harry, who can help the light overpower the evil that threatens to overwhelm Alagaësia. We will attempt to compensate for the loss to your World, by bringing other great warriors from other Worlds to aide your friends. If the situation ever becomes too desperate, we will send you back at once."

Now it was Harry's turn to sigh. He didn't seem to have a choice. "What do I need to know?"

"There is an evil king called Galbatorix who is threatening to conquer all of Alagaësia. Only the Varden and their allies stand in his way. If Galbatorix succeeds, there will be no conceivable end to his reign, as he is immortal. Eventually, he will have conquered every square inch of the planet. Once the Varden fall, that will be Alagaësia's fate, for no one else has the power to resist." Oracle thought for a moment. "Oh, yes, you won't be able to use your kind of magic in Alagaësia. The language you use has no power over land touched by elves. But once you return to your world, you will be able to use Alagaësian magic, if you learn it, I mean."

"So I'll be defenseless?"

"Not really," answered Oracle. "As I said, you will arrive at the proper place. You will learn everything else as you go."

A blinding light engulfed Harry, and he found himself once more on solid ground. Trees surrounded him on three sides and a large mountain range rose up behind him into the clouds. Before him stretched a crystal blue lake as far as the eye could see. A clear blue summer sky glowed overhead.

_Funny,_ Harry thought, _I imagined a bit more gloom and doom. I guess nature doesn't really care if an evil king is about to take over the world._

Harry had only been there a few moments when something happened, the surface of the water cascaded aside in a brilliant splash to make way for the head of some sort of long-necked reptile. Blood-red scales and ivory spikes gleamed with moisture. Not sure of what was happening, or what the creature would do, Harry hid behind a fallen log. The head moved toward the shore at an alarming rate, covering the half mile in a few short seconds. As the beast crawled up on shore and out of the water, Harry glimpsed a set of powerful forelegs, a snaking tail and strong leathery wings.

"A dragon," he whispered to himself.

The dragon wheeled with surprising speed and reached back into the water with his muzzle. It grasped something between its teeth and tugged a man out after him. At first when the beast started sniffing at the prone man and nuzzling him, Harry feared that it'd found its next meal. His fears were abated, however, when the dragon curled up beside the man and sat peering out across the lake.

A minute or so later, the surface of the water rippled again and a second man's head appeared near the shore.

"Thorn," the man spluttered. "Help me, these saddles are heavy."

The dragon stood and slinked back into the water gracefully. Gently, the dragon clasped the scruff of the young man's shirt between his teeth and lifted him above the water. Harry was surprised to see an odd-looking lump of leather hanging from each of the man's hands. He assumed these were the saddles the man had referred to. The dragon drug the man to the shore and deposited him in the shallows.

"Thank you, Thorn," the man said, tossing the saddles up on the shore next to the unconscious man. "Could you fly over the Lake and look for Saphira? I'll take care of Murtagh and set up a camp in the trees."

The dragon turned and looked over towards the woods where Harry hid, then took off into the noonday sky. The young man drug his companion, Murtagh, closer to the trees, then straightened and drew a sword. Harry was surprised to note that the sword was a beautiful shade of shimmering blue that danced as the warrior turned it.

"Come on out," he called. "Thorn told me you're in there, child. Do not play this game. It would be a simple matter to find you forcibly, but I'd rather not hurt you."

Harry's pride boiled when the stranger called him child, but decided against coming out of hiding. He didn't know anything about the world he was in and whether or not this stranger could be trusted.

"Very well," said the stranger, taking another step forward. "I will try to be as gentle as possible, but I make no promises."

Harry felt a snaky rope reach out around his mind and realized that the warrior was using magical telepathy to find him. Harry didn't know how to defend himself against such an attack, and decided to wait for the youth to find him without resistance. Only a minute later, a mop of shoulder-length brown hair appeared beside Harry's face.

Up-close, Harry was surprised to see that the man wasn't quite a man. His face was ageless, though Harry assumed he was quite young. His eyes had a strange upright slant that gave him the appearance of a feral cat. The tapered point of one ear poked out between the locks of hair.

_An elf?_ thought Harry. He vaguely remembered Oracle mentioning elves, but he'd never imagined they would be so strange. This being wasn't anything like he'd expected. If elves such as this had ever existed on Earth, he wondered how they could've given rise to the gnomes of modern myth.

"Greetings, boy," the being said. "My name is Eragon. What's yours?"

"Harry." He suddenly found his throat quite dry. He was scared, whether of the creature and sword before him, or the beast that flew overhead, Harry wasn't certain. "Are… Are you an elf?" he stuttered.

"I'm not an elf," Eragon answered, "but I'm not quite human either." He held out a hand and helped Harry to stand. "Where are your parents?"

"Dead," Harry said sullenly. He hoped he wouldn't have to explain his life to everyone he met here. "They died when I was a baby."

"I'm sorry," Eragon said. "I do understand a bit the sorrow. My mother died shortly after I was born, and I didn't know who my father was until after he died a short time ago."

Together, they drug Murtagh's body into the woods and lit a fire. A few minutes later, while Eragon was unrolling some blankets and hanging them up to dry, Thorn returned, a second dragon close behind. The second dragon was roughly the same size as Thorn and her scales were a brilliant blue that made the lake water appear pale by comparison. Eragon rose hurriedly and rushed to the blue dragon's side. He reached upward without fear and wrapped his arms around her neck.

"I missed you," he said. The blue dragon batted her eyes and crooned with pleasure. Eragon stepped back and gazed at her intently. "Where is it?"

The blue dragon looked down at the ground between her fore claws and flicked her tail. An oblong bundle rolled forward and came to rest at Eragon's feet. He knelt and hurriedly unwrapped the package, revealing a beautiful bright green stone. It was large, about a foot and a half long at its longest point.

Beside him, Harry saw Murtagh stir slightly, but he was too wrapped up in what was happening to truly notice.

"It's larger than your egg was, Saphira," Eragon said, looking up.

"Larger than Thorn's, too," Murtagh added. Harry jumped aside as Murtagh sat up. "It'll be a big dragon when it hatches."

"If it hatches," Eragon corrected.

"What happened?" Murtagh said, quickly taking in their surroundings.

"Let's just say this is the last time we fly over a large garrison held by the king's troops," Eragon chuckled.

"Trebuchets?" Murtagh smiled. Thorn and Saphira both growled.

Harry almost completely ignored the conversation, entranced as he was by the stone at Sahpira's feet. He'd never seen anything so beautiful before. It was as green as algae covering a wet rock and as tough as diamonds. Curious, he rolled it towards him, causing Saphira to curl her teeth defensively. Harry turned it over in his hands, examining all sides of the flawless surface.

"Alright," Eragon said suddenly, "time for bed." He snatched the egg from Harry's grasp without ceremony and wrapped it once more in the brown sackcloth.

"But it's only noon," Harry protested.

"Excuse me, boy," Murtagh snapped. "Did you just break out of the king's fortress and steal his most precious possession?"

"Not to mention," continued Eragon, "we're still in the middle of the Empire. As we've already proven, it would be dangerous to fly during the day. When night falls we'll fly to the Varden camped to the south. All of us."

"What about Thorn and I?" Murtagh asked. "The Varden will never accept me back. They don't understand the bondage I was under."

"You two will have to hide in the Spine," Eragon said. "You can come and help whenever you wish; perhaps eventually you can prove yourself to them."

"I don't understand," Harry muttered.

"I'll explain everything tonight," Eragon said. "But right now, I'm very tired." The camp instantly fell silent as everyone rolled over and did their best to go to sleep. Little did Harry know that all around him, a silent debate was raging between humans and dragons as to whether or not he could be trusted. Finally he fell asleep; blissfully unaware of the danger he was in.

Harry. That was his Rider's name. His deepest, unconscious soul had known it for centuries, ever since he'd been set aside as a bonded dragon. The soul that had touched him before was Harry's. He knew it. Now was the time.

But it was still dark. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. When the Rider touched his dragon, light was supposed to envelope both of their worlds and they would never be separated again. But it was dark.

He pushed the darkness away with all his might, but it refused to budge. He growled, the sound emerged from his lips as a pitiful squeak. Again he pushed against the darkness, this time using his mind as well as his miniscule legs. A crack appeared in the darkness; He stuck his ivory claws into the crack and pulled with all his might. The crack deepened and he pushed against it in reply. Only a moment later, the darkness was cast aside in favor of the pressing light.

He stuck a scaly head out into the light, only to meet with another barrier. Some oaf had wrapped his darkness in a clothe-wall! He snarled unhappily. Here was another barrier between him and his Rider. Such barriers were only meant to be overcome, so he snapped at the clothe-wall. Once the fabric was caught between his teeth, he shook his head from side to side vigorously until there were only rags surrounding him and his darkness.

He crawled out of his darkness, shaking wet-darkness-water off his legs as he did. Overhead, there was an orb-brightness-fire that lit the whole land. Where was Harry? He sniffed at the being closest to him and wrinkled his nose. It was not Harry. It was Blue-Star's Rider. The creature beside Blue-Star was not Harry either. That one was Fire-Scales, and under Fire-Scales' wing was his Rider.

Using his tail for balance, he crawled over Fire-Scales, careful not to wake the sleeping giant. Fire-Scales could easily crush him without knowing it. From Fire-Scales' back, he could see much more, including a third two-leg beside Fire-Scales' tail. He leapt down beside the two-leg and sniffed his head-fur.

Harry! He wanted to dance for joy. He immediately curled up beside Harry, his small green muzzle resting lovingly on Harry's limp right hand. A moment later, Harry's sleep-visions came cascading down on him. He sighed and then begun to purr.

When Harry opened his eyes in the just as the sun was setting, he was surprised to see four faces, two human, two dragon, staring at him with laughter in their eyes.

"It's fate," Eragon said, smiling.

"Or very good luck," continued Murtagh. "I can't believe he slept through the entire process."

"We all did," Eragon answered.

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded.

"Look," Eragon pointed at the ground just to the right of Harry.

Harry looked. Right next to him, its head resting on his right palm, was a small green dragon.

Harry jumped up in surprise and backed away from the dragon. The sudden movement startled the dragon awake and he jumped up as well. Confusion and fear that wasn't his own filled Harry's mind and he backed away from the creature further. The dragon looked over his shoulder at the four onlookers and yelped. He dashed behind Harry's legs as quick as lightning. Peering around Harry's pajama pants at the four, he hissed.

Eragon laughed. "He thinks you're afraid of us," he said. A moment later, Murtagh joined in the laughter.

Harry turned and looked down at the dragon, who returned the gaze like a lost puppy searching for its mother. He took a step back, only to have the dragon follow him. Harry backed in a complete circle, the green hatchling close behind every step of the way. Finally, he turned to face Eragon.

"Why's he following me?" Harry asked, exasperated.

"Look at your hand," Murtagh answered.

Harry complied and saw a silvery oval that curled around the meat of his thumb joint. A moment later, both Eragon and Murtagh tore off their right hand gloves and held their hands out for Harry to see. Both hands carried a marking exactly like the one embedded on Harry's flesh. Harry looked from the marks, to the honest faces to the two young men, and up to the bony grins of the great dragons. As his gaze shifted down to the little green creature beside him, Harry realized what had happened. He'd somehow become bonded to the little monstrosity.


	2. Forget Hope

Wow! I was pleasantly surprised by all the Favorite stories and story alerts the first chapter got! Thank you all so much!

On another note, although I am updating this very quickly this time and am already partially done with chapter three, if the rate of updates slacks off a bit, don't be surprised.

Forgot the disclaimer in the first chapter: I don't own Harry Potter or Eragon, if I did, I'd be riding Thorn and not writing about him.

**Forget Hope**

Ghetto. Work Camp. Detention Facility. Prison. Concentration Camp. Voldemort had a new term. It was such a nice little term that the rest of the world might disillusion themselves that it could be humane, but the truth was anything but. Throughout Europe, "Resettlement Neighborhoods" existed on the fringe of civilized life. There were regular incursions by wizards into the camps, curses flying, tortures rampant. Giants often stomped through the grounds, casually destroying whatever the interns had managed to build. And there was no escape; the perimeter was guarded day and night by dementors.

Crime escalated all over Europe, both inside and outside the Neighborhoods. Killing was all but legal, as long as the victim was a Muggle or a muggle-born "mudblood." However, to kill a witch or wizard was punished with instant, green death.

America watched in silence. China shut her eyes. Africa covered her ears, and Russia and Australia stared quietly at the ground. Meanwhile, all of Europe rested in the clutches of a madman. Some said it reminded them of World War II, but that's all they did. There seemed to be no stopping "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

The International Statute of Secrecy was gone. It'd taken so much pain and suffering to dismantle the ancient law… Hermione Granger wondered how much more pain it would take to bring the world together again.

Nottingham Neighborhood was one of the worst in Europe. The wizard overseers took special delight in this camp, for here was where nearly every surviving muggle-born member of the D.A. was kept. Colin Creevy was killed a year before in a fire started by a angry wizard, and Antony Goldstien was just a little loopy following an extended bout of the crutiatis curse last month, but beyond that, the M.D.A., Muggle-Born Dumbledore's Army, occupied Number Twelve, Sunset Lane, with some semblance of happiness.

That particular day, the M.D.A. sat huddled around a radio in the sitting room, listening to the static-filled transmission.

"All I'm saying, Romulus, is that I think the world needs to face facts." A curt voice Hermione recognized as Professor McGonagall said. "Harry Potter has not been seen or heard from in three years. Now, I want him to return just as much as everyone else, but we have to start figuring our own way out of this mess."

"Nonetheless," Romulus, aka Remus Lupin, responded, "there are those, Dumbledore among them, who believe that the only person capable of defeating You-Know-Who is Harry. Are you saying Dumbledore is incorrect, Rosetta?"

"He was wrong about Snape," McGonagall muttered.

"What about you, River?" Romulus said, "What do you think?"

"I think that this is a moot point, for the time being," Lee Jordan responded. "Harry Potter isn't here now, and when, or if, he does return, we should be ready. Perhaps we can manage the situation so he returns to a free, unified Europe." He took a deep, audible breath. "For now, this is River, signing off. Potterwatch will be broadcasting next week. We don't know exactly when, so be ready. The next password is Sirius."

Sulkily, Hermione switched the radio off, glancing up at the rest of the M.D.A

"What do you think, Hermione?" Dennis Creevey was practically bouncing of the walls. "Will Harry return someday?"

"Be quiet, Dennis," snapped Hermione. "You know we can't talk about that. Do you want to end up in Azkaban?"

Hermione sighed and stood. Gazing about the room and the sad collection of friends before her, she stalked from the room without another word.

Silently, she wandered the streets of Nottingham. Everywhere she went, she saw suffering. Several muggles sat huddled around a barrel-fire, rubbing their hands briskly. The battle to fend off the spring morning chill was a losing one, though eventually, the heat would grow to be unbearable. On one street near the center of town, she saw a squib named Mrs. Figg tending her pitiful little garden.

"Hello, Mrs. Figg," Hermione said, navigating her way around a burnt-out car. "How are you today?"

"Oh," Mrs. Figg looked up, startled by Hermione's approach. "I'm fine, thank you, Hermione."

Hermione watched Mrs. Figgs hand dig into the ground at the base of a tomato plant.

"What' brings you out here on such a fine day?" Mrs. Figg asked.

"Well, just thinking, I guess," Hermione answered. Absently, she bent down and picked up a spade. After a moment of staring at the dirt, she dug into a tough-looking weed.

"Thinking about what?" said Mrs. Figg.

"Friends, family," Hermione answered slowly. "What my life could have been like."

"If Harry Potter hadn't vanished, you mean."

Hermione's head snapped up and she glanced about furtively. "Be careful," she hissed. "If the Death Eaters hear you…"

Mrs. Figg gaped open-mouthed at her. "I thought you were one of Harry's best friends."

"I was," snapped Hermione. "I'm just not stupid."

"Don't give up on him, Miss Granger. That's all the Death Eaters really want." Mrs. Figg sighed. "They want us to forget Harry, and forget Hope."

That evening, Hermione sat curled up in front of the television, watching the news alone.

"Elections were held across Europe today," said the newsman, a muggle who'd managed to keep his job by sucking up to the new order. "Unsurprisingly, the Puritan party came away with a landslide majority. Minister Harrington promises continued measures to protect the wizard and muggle communities from prejudice."

"Yeah, right," Hermione sighed, switching the TV off and tossing the remote at the TV. It clinked harmlessly off the glass.

"Hermione?" a small voice said. She glanced up at the top of the stairs. A little red-haired boy, who Hermione recognized as two-year-old Stephan Weasley, stood at the base of the stairs clutching a scruffy teddy-bear. Stephan, the son of Bill and Fleur, had been torn from his father and tossed into Nottingham after Fleur had been murdered. The Ministry was of the opinion that Fleur, a half-veela, had seduced Bill and that Stephan was an unwelcome addition to the pure-blood Weasley family. The M.D.A. had taken Stephan in when Dennis had found the toddler wandering the streets alone.

"Harry had a bad dream," Stephan explained, holding his teddy up. Hermione smiled. When Stephan had heard the M.D.A.'s stories of Harry Potter told in hushed voices around a campfire, he'd immediately gravitated to the heroic version of Harry portrayed in the tales and named his teddy bear in Harry's honor.

Hermione held her arms out, allowing Stephan to climb into her lap. "Well, we can't have that," she said, taking the bear in her hands. "What'd you dream about, Harry?" She asked the stuffed animal seriously.

"Mommy," Stephan answered quietly. "And a green light."

Hermione's eyes watered, remembering Fleur as she had looked her wedding day, with white wildflowers in her hair, smiling joyously, despite the growing evil all around her. Bill had only met her a few months before, but they had rushed into the marriage because of the current political instability. Less than a year after the wedding, Stephan had been born. The boy had been the sunshine of Fleur's life, until last month, Hermione had heard Bill, as "Rampage," on Potterwatch, lamenting on how his "half-blood" wife had been murdered before his eyes and his son ripped from his arms.

"If anyone in any of the camps sees him, please, take care of him," Bill had said. "He's got red hair and he always carries a teddy-bear with him. His name's Stephan."

"Well," Hermione said, still crying a bit. "I betcha Harry'd like a glass of milk, don't you think that might make him feel better?"

"Yeah," answered Stephan, sliding off Hermione's lap. A few moments later, she and Stephan sat at the table with a tall glass of milk each.

"You know what I wish, Miss Hermione?" Stephan said, staring at his milk seriously. "I wish the real Harry would come back and make You-Know-Who go away."

"Me too," Hermione whispered. "But don't tell Mr. Crabbe I said so."

"I won't."

_This is Harry's world?_ Murtagh said to Thorn as they flew over the silent plains near a place called Stonehenge. _It's so… flat_.

_Kael told me once that Harry said there were mountains in this world. Nothing like the Beors, but great mountains nonetheless_. Thorn responded. _But Harry has never seen them, they lay across the little water, in a place called Switzerland. _Thorn banked to the left, circling the standing stones, allowing Murtagh a good view of the ancient monument.

_This is a place of magic,_ Murtagh said, gazing down at the strange temple.

_But a strange form of magic,_ Thorn answered. _Shall we continue?_ He began to level out, heading east towards a town Harry had called London.

A few moments later, the traffic on the roads greatly increased. A second or two after that, the first outlying buildings of the city came into view. Soon, Murtagh and Thorn were completely surrounded; buildings went on in every direction as far as the eye could see. Far below them, a river, Harry had said it was called the Thames, wound its way through the city.

_How so many two-legs can live together is beyond my understanding, _said Thorn. _Do you smell it?_

"It's worse than Dras-Leona," Murtagh agreed aloud.

_You still wish to land?_ Thorn sounded disgusted at the very idea.

"Well, not in the middle of town, obviously," answered Murtagh, eliciting snort from Thorn. "Land somewhere inconspicuous, I'll take off my armor and walk into town."

_Take your armor off? _demanded Thorn. _Are you sure that's wise?_

_Harry said that people in this world don't dress as we do,_ said Murtagh. _I think I'd draw just a bit too much attention if I walked in there covered head to toe in red armor._ They were beyond the city now, and Murtagh could sense Thorn was looking for a place to land.

_How do you intend to gather the information we need?_ Thorn asked, circling a burnt-out hollow. The ground rushed towards them at a rate that would've frightened anyone else. At the last possible moment, Thorn threw out his great leathery wings, braking himself against the air and landing on the soft earth flawlessly. He barely left a mark in the moss.

"Ask," Murtagh said, flipping his leg over Thorn's neck and sliding off his back.

_Ask what? "Do you know where I can find a wanted criminal?"_ Thorn smirked.

"Of course not," Murtagh unlaced his gauntlets and tossed them on the ground beside Thorn's foreleg. "I'm going to ask some "shady characters" how to contact the resistance."

Thorn just stared at him silently.


	3. Seithr un Shur'tugal

_For people who know the layout of Nottingham better than I do, I apologize in advanced. I don't know everything... There I said it._

Also, for some reason in Chapter 1, i said that this was post GoF, it's actually post OotP._  
_

**Seithr un Shur'tugal**

Hermione sighed heavily as she led the M.D.A through the streets towards Nottingham Castle, where the wizards gathered everyone together each month to make announcements. Hermione frowned, realizing that she no longer thought of herself as a witch; she supposed that was the Death Eaters' goal, separate her from them. Resolutely, she reminded herself that she was a witch and the people holding her and her friends prisoner were Death Eaters. Subhuman, and sub-wizard, Death Eaters. They wouldn't win. Someday, enough people would grow sick of their tyranny and Voldemort would fall.

_Voldemort!_ She couldn't say it out loud, but she'd said it to herself, just to prove she still could.

"Everyone listening?" Fredrick Carter, the "warden," bellowed out from the ramparts of the castle. He received little more than a mutter in response. "Well, if you're not paying attention, mudbloods, it's your head. Look, there's a red dragon flying about these parts, as I'm sure you've heard." He was referring to the rumors flitting about Nottingham following last week's Potterwatch, though this was the first confirmation they'd had of the dragon. "Because of this, we're going to have to put the curfew back in effect." A roar of disapproval went up from the crowd. "Now, don't worry, it's just for a couple of weeks, till we get this brute sorted. It's for your own protection."

The crowd dissipated quickly after that. Hermione lingered longer than most so she could stare up at the castle walls hatefully. She knew that Carter was just using the dragon as an excuse to enforce a curfew. It was unlikely that the curfew would be lifted when the dragon was dealt with. Carter would come up with another excuse.

Suddenly, three years of ghetto-trained senses alerted her that she was being watched. Quickly, she surveyed the square, her gaze coming to rest on a tall male figure standing in the shadow of the castle wearing an iridescent red robe. The garment covered his whole body, and the hood was pulled up over his face. Hermione gazed at him for a moment before turning and hurrying from the square.

* * *

Murtagh watched the woman leave, recalling Harry telling him and Eragon about his friend. "The cleverest witch alive," he'd said. Honestly, Murtagh couldn't see much in her, but he hadn't seen much in Brom, Eragon, or Harry either.

After asking around London for over a day, Murtagh had run into a young dark-skinned man who called himself "River" who said that Hermione Granger might have the information he needed. He'd also mentioned a town called Nottingham.

Murtagh had found the city on a map and flown to Nottingham only yesterday. It'd taken him twenty hours to track down the muggle-borns, and only a few minutes of observance had singled out Hermione. Now, to get her out of here.

* * *

The rest of her day was uneventful, save that Stephan skinned his knee playing with some muggle children. She didn't see the strange red-robed man again.

Late that night, she sat on the couch, a salad fresh from Mrs. Figg's garden resting on her lap, watching the news.

"The Ministry assures the public that the dragon sighed outside Nottingham is under control," said the newsman slowly. The poor muggle looked as though he could scarcely believe he was talking about dragons on the nightly news. "Officials hope to have the animal sedated and shipped to Romania by the end of the week. In other news, Aurors believe they are closing on the secret location of the rebel radio-station known as Potterwatch. Officials won't say more, but…"

_Knock, knock, knock…_

Hermione turned the television of quickly. The curfew included TV and radio, and she was in no mood to be caught. It would only give Crabbe and Carter an excuse. They kept her alive as an example; Harry Potter's friend humbled to observing curfews and constantly looking over her shoulder. Sadly, she reminded herself she was better off than Ron.

_KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!_

Knocking twice? Usually, if they got that impatient, they just broke down the door. Grumbling under her breath, Hermione rose from the couch and crossed to the door. Slowly, she opened it a crack, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw it wasn't one of the Death Eaters.

He was tall and had a serious face, though his gray eyes sparkled as if he were laughing. The handsome features were framed with long locks of dark brown hair.

"Hermione Granger?" He said, his voice low. He had an accent Hermione did not recognize; it sounded American, but not quite.

Hermione opened the door a bit wider, curious. Looking back, it wasn't the smartest move she'd ever made.

"Who are you?" she demanded, noting the red robe wrapped around his shoulders.

"Are you Hermione Granger?" he repeated, unheeding of her question.

"Yes," answered Hermione slowly.

The man moved so quickly, Hermione had no time to react. Before she could process what was happening, he shoved the door open and forced his way into the house. A hand clamped down her mouth, preventing her from crying out. Within moments, he was behind her, a powerful arm wrapped around her waist.

"Letta thorta," he said. Suddenly, Hermione found that although she was still forcing air from her lungs in an attempt to scream, she was making no noise. She'd never heard of such a spell. Prevent others from hearing you, yes, she'd done that many times, but to prevent speech altogether, that was impossible.

With powerful arms, he drug her from the house and into the street. "I am sorry," he whispered softly. "But there is no time to explain. The Death Eaters have discovered my presence here. I must leave now, and you are coming with me. Eka weohnata néiat haina ono, vel eïnradhin ietai Shur'tugal." Hermione stopped struggling. She had no idea what the last words the man had spoken meant, but something about the speech had reassured her.

There was a great gust of wind and Hermione looked up. A massive red dragon was diving towards them, wings tuck. Terrified, she turned to the stranger and ducked her head against his chest. Calmly, he wrapped his arms around her.

"He will not harm us," he said. The ground shook a bit as the dragon landed.

After a moment, the man spoke again, almost laughing. "Of course she's frightened of you, Thorn. In this world, to her, dragons are brutes!" The dragon growled a bit at that.

"Come on," the stranger said, taking Hermione by the wrist and tugging her towards the dragon. Hermione's survival instinct overwhelmed her mediocre trust of the man and she resisted, yanking her arm from his grip and backpedaling towards the M.D.A. house. Letting out a growl of frustration, the man whirled and chased Hermione down, grabbing her about the waist and pulling her back towards the dragon.

"You need to trust me," he snapped. Hermione snorted, as if he'd done much to earn her trust. He hauled her over to the dragon and mounted him as though he were an oversized horse. "Get on," he growled. "Behind me."

Hermione just stared. The man wanted her to crawl on a dragon's back as she would a horse or a hippogryph? Insane. But then she looked up at the dragon's face. Something in his red eyes told her this was no normal dragon. She almost saw a glint of coy intelligence there. Then she glanced back at the man. His laughing eyes reminded her in some ways of Ron. Taking a deep breath, she climbed onto the dragon's back behind the man.

With a single powerful flap of his wings, the dragon vaulted into the sky, hind claws ripping up the lawn beneath. As they lurched forward, Hermione rocked and gripped onto the stranger's cloak tightly. Up they climbed, above the clouds. Once they leveled out, the man shifted a bit in the saddle.

"I'm going to release the spell holding your voice," he said. "And I'll answer your questions, to a point. But if you try to use your magic to harm me or Thorn, you will regret it, understood?"

Hermione nodded, not that she could use magic anyway without her wand, which had been snapped.

"Losna thorta," he whispered. Hermione gasped as though she'd just surfaced from underwater.

"Who are you? What do you want? Where are we going?" She demanded instantly.

The stranger threw his head back, roaring with laughter. Somehow, despite his bright eyes, Hermione was shocked; she'd never thought this man would laugh.

"One question at a time, girl," he said. "I am Murtagh Morzansson, a Dragon Rider."

"What's a Dragon Rider?"

"Someone who rides a Dragon," answered Murtagh shortly. "Do you want me to answer your other questions?"

"Yes."

"Good, stop asking new ones. I want your help. And we're heading for a town called Godric's Hollow." Ha paused. "Now, any more questions?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "What do you need my help with? And how did you train a dragon? I thought that was impossible. Speaking of impossible, how did you keep me from speaking, I've never heard of a spell that could…"

"Slow down, Hermione!" Murtagh snapped. "I closed your speech by using magic, just a form of magic you've never seen before. My magic is only limited by my knowledge of language and my imagination. As for Thorn, I did not _train_ him. Thorn is intelligent and aware. He chose me as his Rider. What I need your help with is best explained on the ground."

This man had the gall to abduct her, demand she climb aboard a dragon, and then not tell her _why_? "Why did you kidnap me?" Hermione growled.

"Would you have come willingly?" Murtagh asked. "Left behind your friends?"

"No."

"Well, there you go then."

Thorn banked to the left just then, forcing Hermione to grip Murtagh's cloak before she slipped from behind him. A small village below them grew larger at an alarming rate, forcing Hermione to bury her face in Murtagh's cloak.

"Don't be frightened," Murtagh said softly. "Thorn knows his skill."

As if to prove it, Thorn threw his wings wide, braking against the wind mere moments before impact. Hermione's forward energy tossed her ever closer to the Dragon Rider, burying her face in his back.

With a thud, Thorn banged into the ground, jarring Hermione from his back. Hitting the earth, she transferred her momentum into a roll to break her fall. The dragon twisted his head around and stared at her. Murtagh laughed.

"Thorn says that he's never seen a two-leg with less grace," Murtagh explained, climbing from the saddle with practiced ease.

"Like I care what a dragon thinks," Hermione muttered darkly, climbing to her feet. Thorn growled, his upper lip curling menacingly.

After sending a final glare in Thorn's direction, she examined their surroundings. They were in a small village square. The nearby houses and shops were abandoned and deteriorating. Doors hung limply off their hinges, wind whistled through the chimneys, and weeds grew rampant in the flower-beds. Lawns had overtaken sidewalks, ripping apart the streets like some primal vengeance of nature. Only one thing seemed to have been untouched.

Only a few meters away sat a statue; a man with shaggy hair and glasses next to a gorgeous woman holding to little baby. It was in pristine condition, though the ground around it was convoluted and burnt as though someone had tried their utmost to destroy it.

"Oh… my… God," Hermione whispered, approaching the statue slowly, hand reaching out and caressing the cold stone skin of the baby's face. Mouth agape, she turned and face Murtagh and Thorn. The Rider was busy removing the pad that Hermione had sat on from behind the saddle, not paying her any mind.

"This is Godric's Hollow," Hermione said.

"Very good," answered Murtagh, smirking. Folding the pad up, he turned and faced her. "Now, why I brought you here."

"Oh, please, I must hear _this_." Hermione hissed sarcastically. "Why the weirdo kidnapped the witch…?"

"I need to find Professor Dumbledore. Immediately."

Hermione snorted, laughing at the strange man's declaration.

"Well, I'm no idiot," Hermione said. "There is no way I'm going to let some _Dragon Rider_ know where the only hope we have is hiding."

"Even if it could save your world?" Murtagh retorted.

"Oh, please," Hermione spat. "I've met enough of you _heroes_ to know what's going to happen. You all come to this world, do your part, and then leave us to our fate. Why don't you just go away?"

"Heroes?" Murtagh said.

"People from other Worlds, who've got these missions; save a few families, smuggle some refugees out of the country, kill a Death Eater or two." She sighed. "Helpful, sure, but useless in the end! Why can't you lot actually do something useful?"

"We're here to kill Vol…"

"Don't say his name!" Hermione screeched. "The Death Eaters have a magical track on his name. Anyone who says it gets put to death."

Murtagh stared at her for a moment. "As I was saying, we're here to kill _You-Know-Who_ and end his reign of terror forever. _Forever._ And to do that, I need Dumbledore's help."

"Why?" Hermione said slowly, wondering if this man was telling the truth. No one had promised lasting freedom in a very long time.

Murtagh looked up at Thorn, his face serious as if considering something. A moment later, he nodded. Briskly, he strode over to a nearby building, a large church, the doors charred by fire. He leaned against the door, dropping his shoulder into the heavy oak and grunting as he pushed. Thorn simply watched from the street, a smirk gracing his features.

Slowly, the door scraped over the hard stone floor, swinging wide to allow the moonlight to shine in upon the sacred space. Hermione could barely see a fire burning somewhere back behind the altar, illuminating a great shape to the right of the pews. Murtagh opened his arms wide, welcoming her in.

Cautiously, she took a step into the cavern, shuddering as the fire-heat that filled the room hit her. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, the gargantuan shape to the right to form. Taut muscles hidden by glistening green scales, leathery wings tucked close to a body, a long neck curling around a set of gleaming ivory foreclaws. It was a second dragon, only slightly smaller than Thorn. Its green eyes were open wide, gazing knowingly at Hermione, as if it knew her. She met his gaze, noting the shuddering shoulders and pained grin. Vaguely, she recalled reading the symptoms of fever in dragons, and this dragon was very ill.

"What's wrong with it?" she asked Murtagh, he voice shaky.

"Nothing," answered the Rider. "Kael is absorbing the pain of his Rider." Murtagh stepped up to the altar, and Hermione noticed for the first time the young man beside the fire, buried under a heap of blankets. Blankets that were soaked in sweat.

"The pain is too much, even for _both_ of them," Murtagh continued, kneeling down beside the man and feeling the fever in his flesh.

Hermione took a step towards the men, and gasped as the glare of the firelight diminished. She saw the sick man's black hair, kindly features, and the scar in the center of his forehead.

The lightning-shaped scar.

"Harry!"

* * *

Ancient language: "Letta Thorta" = "stop speech(speak)" "Losna Thorta" = "release speech(speak)" "Seithr un Shur'tugal" = Witch and Rider"


	4. Secrets

Alright, So I officially suck! I make all you lovely people wait and wait for this and I give you the shortest chapter EVER. The next chapter promises to be much longer and with a bunch of action! So, without further ado…..

**Secrets**

Hermione dropped to her knees beside Harry, pushing Murtagh aside none too kindly.

"What have you done to him," Hermione snapped. She placed her hand on Harry's brow, shocked at the heat she felt there. Frantically, she pulled a nearby bucket of cool water towards her. Grabbing the first piece of cloth she could see, a red, blood-stained bandanna Hermione assumed was a part of Murtagh's armor, she dunked it in the bucket and placed it gently on Harry's brow. Immediately, Harry hissed and recoiled as though she'd place a scalding iron on his head.

"I haven't done anything," Murtagh replied, sounding insulted. "He just… collapsed."

She glared at him, dabbing Harry's face with the cloth again. "Why?"

"I don't know," Murtagh growled. "Kael told Thorn that it's like a nightmare. A 'dream of evil and death' was the exact wording, I believe."

"Kael? The green monster over there?" Hermione nodded towards the emerald dragon. Beside her, Harry whimpered in his sleep, followed a moment later by a shudder from the dragon. "How can he possibly know anything about this?"

"Kael is linked to Harry," Murtagh sighed. "It's impossible to explain, but he knows more about what Harry is going through than any of us."

"Has he told Thorn anything else?" Hemione said. She stared at Murtagh for a moment, unsure how she felt about a creature within her friend's mind.

"Kael is affected by this fever nearly as badly as Harry," Murtagh's tone wavered slightly. "His words make no sense whatsoever to Thorn. All Thorn can understand now is 'Dumbledore.' Kael repeats the name constantly. Please… will you help us?"

Hermione gazed into Murtagh's deep brown eyes, seeing the worry and fear hidden in their depths. Her stare shifted over to the dragon several meters away, Kael shuddering beside the pews, Thorn hovering over him like a guardian angel.

When she made her decision, she acted on it imediantly.

"I can't tell you where Professor Dumbledore is," she said.

"Hermione," Murtagh took a deep breath, "you have to underst…"

"I can't tell you," Hermione interrupted, "because I don't know."

"You… don't know?" Murtagh cocked his head, gazing harshly at her.

"But I know who does," finished Hermione.

"Who"

"The secret keeper," explained Hermione rather unhelpfully.

"Secret keeper?" Murtagh repeated blankly.

"The protector of a Fidelius-Charmed secret."

"A Fidelius Charm?"

"Oh… I don't know how to explain it," Hermione said. "Let's just say you won't find Dumbledore without the secret keeper."

"Where is this secret keeper?" Murtagh stood, looking as though he were ready to go dashing out the door the moment he had the answer.

"Azkaban."

Murtagh stood perfectly still, a expression of shock carved onto his stone face.

"The wizard prison?" he said. "Harry said something about it once, something about demon-eaters." He shuddered. "They eat happiness."

"Dementors," Hermione corrected. "Not the sort you'd invite to a party." She paused. "Or kill with a sword."

"Pat… umm…potruis?" Murtagh said, then glanced down at Hermione with a frustrated look on his face. "Creatures of light, defenders. I don't know what they're called."

"A patronus," she answered. "If I had a wand, I could show you."

Murtagh smirked and hurried back over to Harry's side. Sinking down onto his knees, Murtagh began digging through a brown leather bag. After a moment, he stood back up, a small stick in his hand.

"One of the first things I did after Harry collapsed," he explained, "was to go to Privet Drive. I found a bunch of Harry's old things, including his wand. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you used it for a bit."

Hermione took the wand a bit reverently and examined it. There seemed to be nothing wrong with it. "The house was still intact?" she said slowly.

"More or less," Murtagh shrugged.

"And the Dursleys?"

"There was no one there," he answered. "It looks like it's been empty since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named took power."

Hermione shot a few sparks from the tip of the wand. It was not her wand, but it would have to do for now. Harry certainly wouldn't be needing it at the moment.

Taking a deep breath, she stood and faced out towards the pews. Gathering all her strength, she bellowed at the top of her lungs. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A silver otter sprung from her wand tip and skipped through the air, dancing playfully around thorn's great head. Annoyed, the great red dragon snapped at it with his ivory teeth, but the creature darted away gracefully. After another moment or two, the otter dissipated into nothing.

"If Thorn can bust down the walls relatively near our target," Hermione whispered, "We won't have to deal with that many dementors." She looked up at Murtagh hopefully. "It could work."

"It had better work," the Rider growled in response.

They set about preparing themselves quickly. Hermione helped Murtagh to don his red armor. She equipped herself with the wand, a small dagger, and a green cloak; while Murtagh strapped Zar'roc onto his back. They ate a quick meal of bread and goat's milk in silence, then mounted Thorn wordlessly. At sunrise, with a final glance back at Kael and Harry, they took off.

As they rose above the morning mist, Murtagh shifted slightly in the saddle so as to look at Hermione seated behind him.

"By the way," He said. "You never did say what the secret keeper's name was."

"Ron," Hermione said stonily. "Ronald Weasly."

* * *

As always, please review! You have no idea how much I find it encouraging!


	5. Assult on Azkaban

Funnily, once I got into the action, I just couldn't stop! Here you go! Action galore! And Ron's back! Yeah!

**Assault on Azkaban**

Summer 1997

Ron stood on the steps of Gringotts Bank, surveying the Diagon Alley shoppers with a critical eye. Gone were the carefree smiles and children's laughter of years past. It was replaced with the downcast gaze of shoppers and the watchful "Ministry" overseers. It made him sick to see what had become of his beautiful country in only one year. His anger emboldened him, perhaps more than it should of, and he drew his wand.

"Sonorus," he said, pointing it at himself. "Hey!" his voice was loud, easily filling Diagon Alley. Every person halted and looked up at him.

"You all look like a bunch of defeated rabbits. The fire's all gone from your eyes. Why is that?" Out the corner of his eyes, he saw several Aurors tense up. He was a known "mal-content" speaking in a very public place; but as a pure-blood, he was theoretically safe. "Do you all really think this is going to last? 'Cuz it's not!"

"What do you know, Weasly?" someone demanded.

"I know I've got something you all don't!" He exclaimed. "I've got Hope! And better than that, I've got Faith!"

"Faith in what?" jeered another, familiar, voice. Ron would have laid odds it was Draco Malfoy.

Ron took a deep breath, knowing what he was about to say was highly frowned upon, it might even be enough to make the Aurors see past his blood status.

"I've got Faith that Harry Potter is gonna come back!" he hollered. With the Sonorus charm in effect, his voice sounded like a howler. He saw several Aurors push their way through the crowd, and Ron rushed to finish what he was saying. "And when he does, he'll defeat… Voldemort" he struggled to say the name, but knew he had to if he was to get the point across. "You all had better know what side you're on when he returns, 'cuz there'll bee no choices after. And when Shacklebolt is instated as Minister, you probably won't be able to hide behind the imperious curse as easily as last time." Two Aurors seized him by the arms and took his wand.

As they drug him away, Ron continued to wail at the top of his lungs. "Don't give up! Fight him! Fight him with everything you've got! Don't let the bastard win!"

Ron and his captors dissapperated, and that was the last time anyone ever saw or heard from him again, save for an official Ministry notice informing the family that he had been sent to Azkaban.

* * *

Spring 2000

Thorn rested on a sheer cliff face overlooking the tumultuous sea, Hermione and Murtagh sitting astride him. Across the water, a black lump of metal and stone reared up out of the waves, marring the wild beauty of the grey sea.

"What are we going to do?" Hermione said. Murtagh noted the quavering tone. He couldn't blame her for her fear, and normally, he'd hesitate to take her into battle. She was not experienced enough for his taste, but she was an asset, and this battle would be difficult without her. And Murtagh Morzansson was not one to waste an asset.

_This place in utterly evil,_ said Thorn, his lips curling in a growl.

_Yes_, replied his Rider

"Breach the wall," he said aloud to Hermione. "Cast this abomination into the sea."

_And eradicate the monsters that call it home,_ Thorn added. He moved closer to the edge of the cliff.

"How do you plan to do that?" Hermione asked, skeptical.

"Like this!"

Murtagh had no need to tell Thorn his intent; the two were of one mind and soul. The dragon pushed off the precipice and soared into the clouds, powerful wings straining against the pull of the earth. As they climbed, Murtagh drew Zar'roc, gleaming, from its sheath. Reaching the apex of his flight, Thorn turned his nose earthward, tucked in his wings, and rocketed towards the prison. Hermione clung to Murtagh's red cloak for dear life. He could not help but chuckle at her discomfort.

As they drew near the castle roof, Zar'roc glowed with holy fire. Nothing near as impressive as Eragon's Brisingr, but it was the closest Murtagh could get.

"Stenr jierda un adurna rïsa!" Murtagh exclaimed. He felt a great portion of his power leave him and knew at once he should not have done so much with his first spell.

But it was effective. The granite stones were torn asunder and fell into the sea. The ocean rose and smote upon the citadel, pulling many dementors down into its embrace. Murtagh was careful to guide water and stone away from the prisoners of Azkaban, and few were harmed.

More than anything else, being a Rider had taught him life was sacred. To have the power he had and use it only for selfish reasons was unconscionable. That is what had changed in his heart that had allowed him to escape Galbatorix's grasp. When selfishness had turned to selflessness, the many oaths were shattered, and Murtagh was free to choose his own will. And His will had been to steal Kael's egg, free his younger brother from the King's dungeon, and flee. Who would have guessed that mere hours later, they would have stumbled across the very boy destined to ride the green dragon?

A boy who had become like a brother to him, who was now in pain, possibly dying-

_Focus, Murtagh! _Thorn growled, drawing the Rider back to reality. _We are in the midst of battle_! Thorn darted between falling rocks and rising waves. _Glorious battle!_

Many dementors had escaped the initial assault and at once turned their attention to the attacker. But, thankfully, Hermione was ready for them.

"Expecto Patronum!" she exclaimed. The otter shot out of the end of Harry's wand. It danced wildly before the dementors, teasing them with its agile movements, and they fled before it. It was a powerful spell, and Murtagh was glad it worked

It seemed as if all was going well. Many prisoners were climbing through the ruins of the castle, making their way towards the rickety ferry that had brought them to their prison. Hermione and Murtagh grinned at each other as Thorn made a pass over the refugees.

But their elation was short-live. One of the dementos gave a cry that chilled them to the bone; even Thron shuddered beneath them. Heeding the call, many dementors swarmed about the tallest and greatest of them, swooping this way and that. From this rallying point, the cloaked demons struck out towards the attackers. The otter patronus was forced aside by sheer force of numbers as the creatures charged.

"Oh-oh," Hermione said, all her greatest fears rising to the fore. She buried her face in Murtagh's shoulder.

Murtagh erected every mental shield he possessed, putting the greatest will in Alagaësia to the test against the terrible creatures of darkness.

"Thorn!" He roared. The dragon plummeted towards the Dementors, allowing gravity to do most of the work. At the last moment before collision, Thorn' jaws opened wide, revealing the furnace within.

From the coast, it looked like Azkaban was a volcano, spouting fire and brimstone. However, from his vantage, it look to Murtagh like a great sickle of fire cut through the dementors, consuming whatever foul magic held them together. And still they came on.

"Brisingr skölir!" the flames changed shape, wrapping around the dementors and forming a great wall between them and Thorn. They began to fly over and under the wall, and Murtagh found that he was running out of energy. He could not keep this spell up much longer.

"Hermione!" he hollered. He was forced to yell because of the roar of the flames. "Conjure the otter!"

"I can't!" she answered, her face down. For the first time, he felt her quaking in fear. "I can't even remember the memory I use to summon it!"

"You must!" Murtagh was growing desperate. Not only were the dementors quickly circumventing his wall of fire, but he could feel them pressing on the fringes of his mental blocks.

"I'm scared," Hermione whimpered. Murtagh felt it wise not to mention that his fear was rising as well.

"Hermione," he growled instead.

_Too late!_ Said Thorn, dodging away from a dementor.

The dragon plummeted earthward. A split second later, he thudded into what was left of the northernmost of Azkaban's tower.

"Hermione, get down," Murtagh ordered. "Find Ron. When you do, shoot red sparks from your wand. I'll come pick you up."

"I…" Hermione slid off Thorn's back nervously.

"Hermione look at me." She did so. "You can do this. Harry always said you were the cleverest witch he knew. And you're also a Gryffindor, which means your one of the bravest. I have faith in you. Now, _go_."

She took off through the rubble, galvanized by Murtagh's words.

"Let's end this, Thorn," Murtagh said. He didn't need to, for Thorn had already turned towards the sky and the gathering force of dementors. There were between seventy and a hundred of the beasts left.

Thorn's roar filled the overcast sky, rending the air for miles around. He shoved off into the sky, the wrath of ten thousand years of dragon history shining in his eyes. Had the dementors known fear, it would have shook them to their very core. Alas, the soulless demons did not recognize their peril.

Fire filled the sky as thorn closed the space between himself and his foes. Whatever dark cowl made up the rotted flesh to the creatures fell to the earth as a rain of ash. What few dementors passed by or through Thorn's flame had Zar'roc to contend with. It seemed Hermione had been mistaken; for whether by virtue of its keen edge or the magic in its bones, the sword did indeed tear the flesh of the monsters.

It seemed only a moment later, when it had actually been some minutes, that Murtagh hovered before the greatest of the dementors; he that had screeched his rallying cry. The two faced each other as across a quidditch pitch. It was a staring contest of wills, and time seemed to pass slowly.

And then the dam burst.

At the exact same moment, Thorn and the dementor charged one another. They collided with a thud. Focused on battle, they fell towards the sea. Ripping, tearing and biting at one another, until at last the pulled apart and soared once more into the sky.

The dementor charged again, but this time, at the urging of his Rider, Thorn held his ground. Closer the monster came, until at last, Murtagh beheld the hideous face.

"NOW!" roared the Rider. Flame leapt from his dragon's gullet. It surrounded the creature, enveloped the cloak, and singed the flesh. The hunk of rotten meat hung in the air for a moment, then dropped to the earth and shattered upon the rock.

Murtagh sat there silent for a moment, contemplating the grotesque features he'd seen beneath the black hood. As far as he'd ever heard, from both harry and Hermione, he may be the only person to see that face and go on to speak of it. But he swore to never tell anyone of the dementor's countenance, he would take that terrible secret to his grave.

He was snapped from his thoughts by the sight of red sparks flying at the western tip of the island. Silently, Thon drifted down to where Hermione stood next to the hunched figure of a red-haired man.

"Ron?" Hermione said, bending down and shaking the man's shoulder gently. Thon landed softly beside them. "Come on, it's time to go."

Ron looked up, and Murtagh saw the haunted eyes. "Go?" he repeated quietly. "Go where? Go to what? Do what?"

"Come on," Murtagh reached out a hand towards the distraught wizard. "Let's get away from this cursed place."

Ever so slowly, Ron moved forward, helped along by Hermione. Cautiously, he took Murtagh's hand, then gripped it firmer. The Rider heaved him up into the saddle in front of him as Hermione clambered on behind.

"Pretty horsie," Ron said, sounding just a tad loopy. Thorn growled ever so slightly at those words.

"Up, Thorn," Murtagh ordered. "Let's go gently, for we are all tired."

Thorn, cautious as could be, heaved himself into the sky, wheeled once around the ruined fortress, and headed south.

Murtagh gazed down as they passed over the prison, glad to note that many prisoners were helping one another; a few seemed to have taken charge of the ferry and were ordering the elderly and the infirm aboard first. How they could do so after being trapped so long with the dementors, Murtagh had no idea, but his heart was light as they headed for Godric's Hollow.

They flew for some time. Somewhere over Scotland, Murtagh noticed that Ron was slumped back against his body, while Hermione was slumped forward. Both were snoring softly, hopefully filled with good dreams, free at last from the shadow of Azkaban.

Word of what had happened was a long time in coming to Voldemort, for no dementors escaped the wrath of Murtagh and Thorn. Nevertheless, it was a certain fact….

Azkaban Prison was no more.

* * *

Ancient language: Stenr jierda un adurna rïsa – Stone, break and water, rise – brisingr skölir - fire shield

As always, please review!


	6. Du Rïsa abr Fyrn

AN: BOUT FREAKIN TIME! I must apologize profusely! I never intended to make you guys wait this long. I fianlly finished this chapter,a nd the next one is on it's way (hopefully). Hope this meets with your satisfaction, I'm certainly happy with it.

Also, I have not yet read Inheritance. Basically, whatever Paolini wrote is what happened, unless it contradicts this story. Obviously, Harr was the green dragon's Rider, and Murtagh was on the good side. Other than that, assume Paolini was right.

**Du Rïsa abr Fyrn**

Ron's first awareness was of a very bright light shining straight through his eyelids. He raised his hands to cover his eyes to block out that unbearable light. The next thing he was conscious of was the singing of birds. Then the smell of tulips. Then the sound of water falling.

Is this heaven? A voice in his head asked.

But it couldn't be, because whatever he was lying on was hard. And nothing in heaven was hard; at least that was his theory. Curious, he opened his eyes, but was forced to snap them shut because of the bright light overwhelming his senses. Nothing in his life had been that bright in a very long time. Painfully, he forced his lids up, squinting against the light he eventually identified as sunlight streaming in between the rafters of a tall building. No ceiling in Azkaban was that tall, nor did any sunlight get past the dementor guards.

"It wasn't a dream," he croaked, mostly to himself. His throat was dry and his lips chapped. He coughed, willing saliva to form and relive some of his agony.

"No," a distinctly male voice said, Ron tried to turn his head, but found his neck was stiff. A hand, strong and callused, slid under his head and propped him up ever so slightly. A wooden bowl came to his lips, and Ron felt a stream of cool water slide between his lips and trickle down his throat. It was so sudden, Ron's gag reflex kicked in, and he spluttered the water back up.

"Easy now," continued the voice. The bowl came up to Ron's face again and he took a tentative sip. "Take it slow." The hand at the back of Ron's head began to lift him slowly up into a sitting position.

Sitting, Ron looked about at his surroundings. He appeared to be in some sort of church; pews sat in front of him in a parody of an army regiment. Beside him sat a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark brown hair who wore a loose red tunic. Red… that reminded him of something… A flying horse?

"You're safe," the man said, giving Ron a reassuring smile.

"Where am I?" Ron asked, gazing around. On one of the nearby pews, the form of a person lay in a fetal position, with their back to him. He caught the sight of messy brown hair. Beyond the pews, off to the right, a great green lump of scales lay shuddering in the sunlight.

"A small village called Godric's Hollow," answered the man, scooting over beside the dying embers of a campfire. He poked the coals a few times, coaxing them to life, then threw a rotten piece of wood atop the tiny flames. "This was once a church, before You-Know-Who had this entire place burnt."

"How…?" He trailed off as a new sound came to him. It seemed like a drumbeat against the open spring sky. A moment later, a massive impact shook the ground, then a huge red dragon heaved his way through the gaping double doors. Suddenly, all the memory from last night came back to Ron. Azkaban falling about him, the dragon scorching the scores dementors, Hermione finding him, riding in front of the mysterious warrior.

"Hermione?" he said suddenly, looking up at the warrior. "Where is she?"

"Sleeping," the man pointed to the figure resting on the pew. "She has had a long couple of days." He paused, then looked down at Ron. "You need to eat." The man reached over to a nearby bag, pulled out a loaf of bread, then tore a small chunk off and handed it to Ron.

"Just a bit at a time," he said as Ron wolfed down the morsel. "You don't want to get sick."

"I've been sick for almost three years," Ron said. "Anything is better than that hell-hole." He gazed up at his rescuer, accepting another bowl of water from the man. "What's your name?"

"Murtagh," came the terse reply.

"And the… um… dragon?" Ron barely kept himself from calling the thing a 'pretty horsie' once again, but he somehow understood that that would be taken less kindly than it had been when he was slightly out of it.

"Thorn," Murtagh said. With the turn of the discussion away from himself, Murtagh seemed to instantly warm up. He sat down, divided the rest of the bread in half, sharing a part of it with Ron.

"I do not wish to seem callus, Ron Weasly," Murtagh said. "But I rescued you for a reason; I need to know where Professor Dumbledore is hiding."

"I just met you," Ron said, glaring uneasily at the stranger. "And I don't trust easily, not anymore. Azkaban taught me that much. People are willing to sell any information for favor with You-Know-Who."

"Dark sorcerers are not my sort of friends," Murtagh said. "I have no intention of selling anything to Him. Least of all information that could save my bond-brother."

"Your bond-brother?" Ron echoed blankly.

"Thorn is the elder brother of Kael," Murtagh pointed to the shuddering mass of green scales. "their mother was Hei-Solëna. The two bonded instinctually not long after Kael hatched. As a result, I and Kael's Rider also bonded as brothers."

"But how does finding Dumbledore help Kael's… Rider?" Ron said. Murtagh was making less sense with each passing sentence. What did two dragons have to do with two men becoming "sorta-brothers"? And what was Dumbledore's - or for that matter, his and Hermione's - involvement with any of this?

"Kael's Rider," Murtagh began, "is Harry Jamesson. And he is very ill." The man looked ill himself, almost as though he couldn't bear contemplating his friend's situation.

It took a moment for Ron to come to terms with what had just been said. To be fair to him, he'd never heard Harry Potter referred to as Jamesson before and he was still recovering from his tenure in Azkaban. When the realization did hit home, Ron felt a variety of emotions suddenly vying for dominance within him. The dementors would've had a field day.

He was happy that Harry had somehow returned.

He was curious as to how that had come to be.

He was angry that Harry had left in the first place.

He was concerned, as Murtagh had mentioned that Harry was very ill.

He was distrustful; this man had no proof of anything he'd yet said.

But most of all, he was ready to do all he could to save Harry's life.

"I'll show you where Dumbledore is hiding," he finally said. "But I want to see Harry first."

Wordlessly, Murtah pointed behind Ron. He turned, and saw a dark-haired young man lying beside a cooking fire. Ron scooted over beside him, taking his best friend's hand inn his own. Harry's skin felt as though it was on fire, and Ron involuntarily dropped it. He picked it up again and held it firmly, hoping Harry would respond with an equally firm grip. But the appendage remained limp in his hand.

"We can leave whenever you're ready," he said to Murtagh after a long pause. Part of him wanted to wait for Hermione to wake up, but he knew he couldn't face her until Harry was safe. And there was no way he was taking her into a possibly dangerous situation.

"Then let's go," Murtagh grabbed Zar'roc and leapt to his feet. Silently, he hurried down the aisle between the pews towards Thorn. Without a glance back, he leapt onto the dragon's back and strapped himself into the saddle. Ron fumbled into the space just behind the saddle. The dragon slunk out the door and took to the sky.

* * *

Whistlewind was a tall, spindly tower in northern Wales; invisible to all, due to the Fidelius Charm that protected its occupant. Professor Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore had aged considerably in the past three years, he'd been the victim of a half dozen assassination attempts that had eventually forced him into hiding, but not before declaring, three years ago, that Harry Potter was the only one who could defeat Voldemort. Ever since, his only contact with the outside had been depressingly infrequent visits and the occasional listening of Potterwatch. The old headmaster was pleased to discover that people still believed that Voldemort could be defeated, although that seemed to diminish with each passing week. Nevertheless, the core group seemed to be holding onto hope. The Order was somewhat intact, though Severus was so deep undercover, even _he _wasn't sure what side he was on from moment to moment. The only one who knew was Dumbledore himself.

Whistlewind stood on a rocky prominence overlooking the plains. Dumbledore often spent great swaths of time staring out the topmost window, perhaps a bit like a king surveying his land. Thus he spotted the two figures staggering up the hill from a good distance away. He watched them for several minutes, wondering if it were two Order members coming to bring him news, or a couple of wayward wizards simply attempting to get their bearings from a suitable vantage point. The Fidelius Charm was impossible to penetrate, especially in conjunction with other protective spells surrounding Whistlewind, so Dumbledore wasn't overly concerned either way.

The two figures clambered up to the door, one in a tattered black robe, the other cowled in crimson. The doorbell rang. Order members, then. Dumbledore apparated downstairs and opened the door without hesitation.

That he was surprised to see Ron Weasly on his doorstep was an understatement. He looked awful; eyes sockets hallowed, red hair stringy and unkept, cheeks sunken in, and lips chapped and bleeding.

"Mr. Waesly," Dumbledore said, standing in the doorway. He was certainly suspicious. Last he had heard of Ron was that the young man had been sent to Azkaban. It was certainly possible, however unlikely, that the redhead had betrayed the location of Whistlewind, and this was a person under the influence of polyjiuce potion. "Mind if I ask you what Miss Granger told the two of us just before she was taken to Nottingham?"

"'I can't believe you Ronald, you're completely insufferable,'" Ron said, his tone and manner exactly like Hermione. Dumbledore smiled, a little more at ease.

"And your friend?"

"Murtagh Morzansson," the man said, tossing his hood back, revealing dark brown hair framing a sharp-featured face. "I am a friend of Harry Potter."

Dumbledore instantly drew in a sharp breath. "I need your help, Professor," Murtagh continued. "Harry is sick, but I know of no cause."

Dumbledore promptly opened his door wider and gestured them in. He waved his wand, summoning anything he might need to himself and stuffing it into his handy, bigger-on-the-inside bag. Meanwhile, Murtagh continued his explanation.

"When Harry and I came into this world, he almost immediately cried out in pain and collapsed. It's been described as an evil dream. Death, destruction, darkness."

"Harry has been in another world these four years?" Dumbledore said. Murtagh nodded. "Away from Tom." Albus muttered.

"The connection between Harry and You-Know-Who?" Ron clarified.

"Yes," responded Dumbledore. "Harry shares a link with the Dark Lord, Mr. Murtagh."

"A mental link?" Murtagh said. "That isn't possible. Harry has powerful mental protections."

"I am pleased to hear that. Were they up when he came through to this world?"

"There was no danger, no need," Murtagh said, brows drawing together.

"And by the time the need was realized," Dumbledore concluded, "Tom's dark personality had found a root. Harry is trapped in Riddle's psyche."

"He'd never collapsed for days at a time before, Professor," Ron said.

"The past four years, Harry has been completely free of Tom's influence. Meanwhile, Tom's power has been growing; power and anger."

"And when Harry returned to this world, he was unprepared for the force with which he'd be instantly assailed," Murtagh concluded in understanding.

"Exactly," said Albus. "We must provide an anchor for Harry to grab on to. One strong enough to pull him back enough for him to erect his 'powerful mental protections.'" He smiled. "Fortunately, I have access to just such an anchor. What is our destination?"

"Godric's Hollow," Murtagh replied, confused.

Dumbledore conjured his phoenix patronus. It hovered before him for a moment, then took off through the door. He then held out his arm to the other two men. Ron grabbed his purple sleeve at once, but Murtagh just stared at it blankly.

"Whatever your preferred mode of travel, Mr. Murtagh," Dumbledore said. "Apparating is undoubtedly quicker." Murtagh shrugged, looked over his shoulder for an instant, then grabbed his sleeve.

With a resounding crack, Whistlewind was left empty.

* * *

Ancient Language- Du Rïsa abr Fyrn "the rise of war"

Dumbledore's back, and another friend will be making a cameo shortly. Hee-hee...

Please Reveiw as always!


	7. Anchor

AN: Here we go! New chapter just for you. I will attempt to get a new chapter for you pretty soon!

**Anchor**

The first thing Murtagh noticed once he recovered from the sudden, jarring sensation of being compressed into the size of an atom, was that Kael was awake. He had drug himself up the steps to where Harry lay, his long neck curled around the fire, his head resting beside Harry.

_Murtagh._ The deep voice echoed in the rider's mind. Kael sounded tired and sore. _Help us._

_I'm trying, brother._ Murtagh responded, disengaging himself from Dumbledore and hurrying to Harry's side. He fell to his knees beside Harry, Dumbledore following suit a moment later.

"A dragon?" Dumbledore looked the green-scaled creature up and down quickly.

"He's perfectly safe." Kael growled softly in his belly. "More or less," Murtagh amended.

The old man's gnarled hand draped over Harry's brow. Kael's head rose a few inches off the ground, a lip curling.

_Who is this? What is he doing?_ His voice came through haltingly, as if the dragon was having trouble remembering words.

"Don't worry, he's a friend," Murtagh laid a hand across Kael's snout. "How are you feeling?"

_My heart-and-soul is dying,_ Kael said. His big green eye stared unblinking at Murtagh for a long, uneasy moment. _I do not want Harry to leave me._

"That won't happen, Kael. I swear." Mrtagh gulped, then looked up at Dumbledore. "You can do something?"

_If he cannot, he will answer to me,_ Kael gave Dumbledore a steely look as his head thumped back down to the stone floor.

Unable to hear Kael's words, Dumbledore answered Murtagh's question evenly. "There is little I can do for Harry." Murtagh sat up straighter, glaring at the man. Before he could say anything, there was a loud crack that thundered through the church. Murtagh whirled.

Ron and Hermione sat on a nearby pew, watching the proceedings in silence. They leaned against each other, but as far as Murtagh could tell, they hadn't spoken to one another yet. Behind them, at the back of the church, the door leaned open, and a robed figure stood in the shadows, the setting sun silhouetting the shape. It moved forward slowly, obviously a bit concerned by the bulk that was Kael. Murtagh stood and turned, drawing Zar'roc. He crossed the room with long strides, covering the distance far quicker than most people would have.

A couple of steps out, he realized it was a woman. It didn't matter much to him, man or woman, so he grabbed her by the arm, and twisted her around so her back was to him. Using one arm to pin her against his chest, he used the other to bring the point of his red blade up to her neck. In this manner, he whirled the two of them around to face the others.

"I trusted you!" he growled at Dumbledore. He briefly considered reaching out and attacking the old man with his mind, but with no way to know how strong Dumbledore was, Murtagh couldn't risk getting embroiled in a mental battle. Right now, his physicality was his strength.

As soon as Murtagh spoke, Kael lashed out; pinning Dumbledore to the ground under a massive claw and turning his ivory-spiked head to Ron and Hermione, who had surged to their feet to defend the old man. Kael's mental exhaustion prevented the dragon from moving as quickly or as fluidly as he normally did. However, he was more than a match for the humans surrounding him.

"You brought us an uninvited guest," Murtagh continued. "We don't appreciate surprises." He shoved the woman forward and up the short stairs to the dais. Her eyes dropped down to Harry, then up to Kael.

"What'd you do to him?" the woman's accusatory tone echoed off the walls. Although she was looking fearfully at Kael, she was undoubtedly speaking to Murtagh.

_Ginny,_ Kael said, his voice soft in Murtagh's mind. Upon hearing the name, Murtagh nearly released the red-head like she was cast of hot iron.

"Are you sure?" he said instead. Kael blinked twice, as if to say, _"You take me for a fool? Of course I'm sure." _Martagh's grip slackened ever so slightly. Kael's access to Harry's memories would allow him to recognize any old friends.

"Ginny Waesley?" The point of Zar'roc dropped ever so slightly. She wrestled against his grip half-heartedly. He tightened his grip once more. "You're Ginny Weasley?"

"Yes!" she said, wrenching against him. He released her suddenly, causing her to tumble to the ground, unexpectedly off-balance.

"Oi!" Ron exclaimed. "That's my sister!"

Murtagh sheathed his sword. "Let him up, Kael," he said, ignoring Ron. As Dumbledroe sat up, Murtagh spoke to the old man. "In the future, keep in mind that I do not like surprises."

"I believe I can remember," Dumbledore assured Murtagh. He moved back to his position beside Harry. "Let us see what I can do here."

Murtagh barked out a laugh. "I thought you just said you couldn't do anything."

"I don't believe so," Dumbledore said.

"But, Professor," Hermione began, confused.

"I doubt if I can do anything," Dumbeldore said, looking directly at Ginny. "But Miss Waesly may he able to help quite significantly."

Ginny looked up from Harry's fevered face hopefully. "What do you mean, Professor?" Murtagh glared at her before sinking down beside her.

"Mr. Potter requires an anchor, Miss Weasly," Dumbledore explained kindly. "A mooring to clutch to amidst his mental storm."

"But-"

"Once he regains consciousness, I should be able to guide him back to us." Dumbledore rocked back on his heels, gesturing for Murtagh to do the same. Confused, the Rider hesitated, then shuffled back a foot or two.

"Harry?" He could barely hear Ginny as she clutched desperately to Harry's hand, stroking his brow with her sleeve. "Harry, can you hear me? I need you to wake up now Harry."

Murtagh gasped when he saw Harry's finger tighten around Ginny's, if only for a moment, before they slackened. Ginny did gasp, and Kael's head twisted to the side in response.

"Harry!" Ginny shuffled closer, till she was almost sitting atop him; her face mere inches from his. "Harry wake up!"

Harry remained stubbornly still.

When Ginny twisted her head to face Dumbledore, Murtagh could see tear-tracks glistening on her cheeks. She choked back a sob. "What do I do?"

Murtagh cocked his head to the side; she really did care for Harry. Possibly just as much as Kael did. Murtagh couldn't imagine feeling anything like what he felt for Thorn directed at anyone else – save_ perhaps _for the Queen.

"I think you know what to do, Ginny," Dumbledore said softly. Ginny looked back to Harry slowly.

"Harry," she whispered, "please, wake up."

Then she did what Murtagh least expected. She leaned down and covered his mouth in a kiss. Kael leaned forward, barring his teeth as she deepened the kiss, her eyes closed and completely oblivious to the dragon.

Slowly, painfully, a great weight lifted from the old church. It was as though someone had thrown wide the drapes in a musty attic. Ron, the big brother, moved several feet forward, covering the first two steps, before Murtagh stopped him.

"It's working," he said. Ron just glared at his sister kissing his best friend. "Can't you feel it?"

"Feel what?" Ron growled.

"The evil in the air is leaving," Murtagh explained.

Just then, Harry groaned and stretched his legs. Dumbledore immediately scooted forward and pushed Ginny back softly. Ron's reaction was to pull Ginny even further away, though she still insisted on holding Harry's hand.

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, his hands wrapped around his face. "Concentrate, my boy. The Dark Lord cannot enter your mind if you do not allow him. Push him out. You can do it."

Dumbledore continued coaching thus for what seemed like an age, with Murtagh occasionally adding his own voice, and Ginny giving a reassuring squeeze every so often. Finally, Harry's eyes fluttered open, and the bright green eyes shifted around the room unsure of his surroundings. Then, he focused on Ginny. He smiled.

"Hi," he said.

She smiled back. "Hi."

* * *

Know what got this chapter up? A review! So, please review!


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